


This Secret Language

by Burning_Nightingale



Category: Languages (Anthropomorphic)
Genre: Gen, Magic, Resistance, Spies & Secret Agents, Telepathic Bond, Telepathy, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-23
Updated: 2017-09-23
Packaged: 2019-01-04 13:27:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12169800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Burning_Nightingale/pseuds/Burning_Nightingale
Summary: Emily Winstowe's biggest secret isn't that she's a British spy working with the French Resistance; it's that the voice of the English language speaks to her inside her head.





	This Secret Language

**Author's Note:**

  * For [meme_inspired](https://archiveofourown.org/users/meme_inspired/gifts).



> This was written fairly fast, so apologies for any historical mistakes. This is more about the anthropomorphic aspect than the language aspect, but I hope it's still enjoyable, recip!

There are four rules about being a Listener of the Language.

Number one: there is only one Listener per language, ever.

Number two: the Listener will come from the Chosen Family. If the Family has no heir, a new Family will be chosen.

Number three: The Listener must keep the language alive. Teach it, promote it - whatever it takes.

And number four: the fact that languages speak with their own voices is a secret you can never, ever reveal.

But the Rules don't tell you everything. Not by a long shot.

Emily Winstowe has had to work that out the hard way.

When she snuck out of her family's country estate to join the war effort, her intention had been to join up as a nurse. Subsequent events had proven she hadn't quite the stomach for it (she'd tried, honestly she had, but the matron didn't have any use for a girl who couldn't look at an injury without throwing up) and so she'd had to consider other career options. Slumped alone on the front steps of the hospital, realizing with despair that she would have to go home and face her parents, one of the other nurses had crouched down next to her.

"You should go down the road and enlist," she'd said. "The WAAF are always looking for new people."

And that's how Emily Winstowe became a spy.

Not at first, of course. At first she'd been training to fix planes, and to operate a wireless. Then she moved into decrypting codes and ciphers, until one day a senior officer had sat her down in his office and said, "Miss Winstowe, we are looking for new recruits to join the Special Operations Executive, and we think you might have the skills required."

One interview and two months training later, she was deployed in the field.

It was on that first train ride, sitting in a second class carriage with a bag of incriminating information clutched in her lap, that she first heard English speak.

_Hello, my dear._

Emily had jumped violently, drawing startled looks from the other passengers. She had averted her eyes and stared out of the window, trying to calm her racing heart. _What? Hello?_ she'd thought in her head.

 _Sorry to startle you._ The voice hadn't sounded terribly remorseful.

 _Are you..._ She hadn't had to ask. She knew. _You're English._

_Yes, my dear. And you're my new Listener._

_Grandfather..._

_Ah, yes, sorry. I'm afraid he's dead. Passed away quietly in his sleep, if that makes you feel any better._ Hearing a sigh in her head for the first time had been a strange experience. _I'll miss him, dear man. But now we're going to go on an_ adventure _._

Emily had been stunned, too stupefied to speak for many minutes. The train had pulled away from the station and started to gain speed when she finally asked, _Why did you pick me? I'm not exactly Listener material._

 _It is my decision as to what constitutes 'Listener material'_ , English had said with a huff. _And to my mind, you fit the bill. Now, no more chit chat. A mistake here could cost your life, and I don't intend to lose a Listener so soon after she's been chosen._

And that had been the end of that. Emily hadn't dared to ask again why English had decided that she, the unquestionable black sheep of the Family, had been chosen for the most important role within it. She just accepted it - and English's often very useful help - and concentrated on staying alive.

Now she's in the countryside of France, perhaps fifty miles south of Paris, huddled in a barn with other members of the Resistance.

Raymond spreads the map out on an upturned crate. "This is the site," he says, pointing at a crossroads on the map. "The telephone exchange building is on the south side of the crossroads. If we can destroy the equipment it will severely damage their lines of communication throughout the area."

He goes on, detailing the plan; sneaking through the fields in the dead of night, incapacitating the guards, setting the explosives, getting out.

Emily listens attentively, despite how many times she's heard him go over it in private. Something inside always comes to life when she listens to a new plan being laid out; something electric and wild stirring in her blood, making her pulse quicken.

Sometimes she wonders how much of that is her, and how much is English, the invisible _someone_ singing and swirling through her veins.

_Not all of it's me, darling. You've got a little wild in you._

Emily ignores her voice, focusing on Raymond's quick French. It's been so long since she's heard anyone but English speak her own language. It only adds to the feeling of secrecy inherent in the bond they share.

As Raymond reaches the end of his speech, she feels rather than hears English perk up. _What is it?_ she asks, tensing, readying for action.

 _Someone's coming_.

Emily opens her mouth, ready to warn the others, when English says, _No, not a threat. Someone for us_. Emily knows she means just the two of them.

_Who is it?_

It takes a few minutes for English to finally answer. Just when Emily is getting frustrated, English says in a tone of sudden disgust, _Ugh. I think it's French._

 _French?_ Despite herself, Emily feels excited. She's never met another Listener before.

 _Yes. Coming down the road to the north._ English sounds agitated. _Let's go, Emily. I don't want to talk to him._

_What? But you're helping me save his country-_

_Still, he's an arrogant sod and I don't like him. Let's go._

Emily stands her ground. _I can't just leave in the middle of a meeting. They'll think I'm up to something._

_Raymond knows you well enough to know you would never sell him out._

_You'd think that._ Dark memories encroach on Emily's mind for a second, before she pushes them away. _You know how hard it is to trust anyone here. He'll be on the lookout for anything suspicious._ She can't help but smile. _Besides, maybe he won't even come in here._

 _He can sense me in the same way I sense him. He'll want to "chat"._ The way English says it, chat sounds like a swear word.

_Goodness, how will you survive._

English grumbles, a strange sound, like she's saying words without actually forming words, and retreats. Emily listens to the rest of the meeting in peace, and when it begins to break up, she slips out through the barn's big double doors.

In the small grassy courtyard outside, a young man is waiting.

They stare at each other for a few moments before a deep male voice says, _I thought that was you, English_. The young man's lips don't move.

_What do you want, you old toad?_

_To know what you're doing here._

_Promoting my own interests_ , English says quickly.

Hearing English laugh is strange, but at least she can sort of feel it, in her head, like she can with everything English says. It's hard to explain, but English's words and sounds feel like they're grounded, somewhere inside her. Listening to French is like hearing a ghost.

When he stops laughing French says, _Of course, you only ever look out for yourself._

There's a long pause, until English says in a very grudging tone, _If it helps you out at the same time, maybe it's not such a bad thing._

_What an admission._

_We_ are _allies,_ English says. She's quick to add, _Just this once._

 _I treasure your friendship_ , French says, voice dripping with sarcasm.

_Listen here, you old-_

"My name is Emily," Emily says loudly, in French, drowning out English's insult. "Who are you?"

The young man has very wide, very brown eyes, which look black in the darkness. His hair is black too, and scruffy, tangled as sheep's wool. "Jean," he says, staring at her.

The two languages have subsided, and the night is quiet. Dimly Emily can hear murmurs from inside the barn behind her. "What are you doing here, Jean?" she asks.

Jean clears his throat, nervous, and says in a whisper, "They said you would be here. They said to tell you, 'The quick stream passes through beautiful woodland, whispering as it goes.'"

"'Then out into the meadow, a sunlit glimmer on swift water'," Emily replies, relaxing slightly at the familiar code phrase. "I haven't seen you before. Did you just join up?"

"They just started trusting me with these missions," he says. He seems slightly less nervous now. "I have some information for Raymond Duval. Is he here?"

"Inside," Emily says, gesturing to the doors, "Come on."

 _I can't believe I have to work with_ you, English grumbles as Jean walks over.

_Believe me, the feeling is mutual._

**Author's Note:**

> I can be found here and at darthrevaan.tumblr.com if you'd like to talk :)


End file.
